


there's something in the water

by curlyfries



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Also such a lack of Niall, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Sports, Baker Louis, Fluff, Happy Ending, I'm Sorry, Injured Harry, M/M, Mentions of Abortion, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, No Smut, Slight Harry/OFC, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Sweet, Witchcraft, only a little though, tennis player harry, very little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:43:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyfries/pseuds/curlyfries
Summary: Harry and Louis met when Harry was in the middle of a rough patch after he injured himself during a tennis competition. After a night that Harry can't forget, he's met with a little surprise a couple of months later. It's a bit of a shock, especially considering how he got there, but he's determined to see it through. He's all prepared to do it all alone too, but running into Louis again might change the game.Cue dates, happiness and cuddles, but Harry can't get the fact that he needs to tell Louis out of his mind. He's got his fingers crossed that it all works out.





	there's something in the water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dysia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dysia/gifts).



> Hi Dysia! I hope you like this, I had a lot of fun writing it (when I stopped procrastinating). I took a little bit from your second and third prompts because I liked them so much, so I hope that was alright.
> 
> Thanks to the mods who were so patient with me! 
> 
> Just a little warning, there is a few mentions of abortion in here but it doesn't eventuate. Also no sex, sorry, haha.
> 
> The title is from "Something in the Water" by Brooke Fraser, which I think suits this pretty well. Give it a listen if you don't know it (but you'll probably recognise the chorus).
> 
> Thanks also goes to my friends who listened to me complain about my poor time management x

As soon as Harry’s racquet connected with the little yellow ball, he knew something was wrong. He expected the intense spike of pain that rushed up his arm to his shoulder and spread over his back, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from crying out. He dropped his racquet, cradling his right arm. Air hissed through his teeth as he clenched them tightly against the pain, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to focus on not letting any tears fall.

 

He could tell it was bad. Harry should’ve been able to bend down, pick up his racquet and keep playing, but the fact that he couldn’t, told him that something was seriously wrong. His eyes searched the sides of the court looking for his coach, Liam Payne. When their eyes met, Harry’s resolve crumbled, and he felt the first tear slide down his cheek. That’s when Liam moved into action. He had never seen Harry cry before. He jogged over to the official, calling for a temporary suspension to get a diagnosis and treatment. When it was granted he turned and headed over to Harry, who was still gritting his teeth and trying to get past the pain. Harry’s opponent glanced over worriedly as he was escorted from the court. A quick scan of the crowd saw the spectators concerned too, so Liam shot them what he hoped was a convincing smile as he gently led Harry into his locker room.

 

Harry slumped down on the bench when they reached the room, gingerly holding his injured arm against his side. Any movement away from his body would have sent him reeling in agony. He sat up when someone else came into the locker room behind them. The medic was greeted at the door by Liam, and followed him over to Harry. Harry didn’t want to look at him, he didn’t want to see the pity on the medic’s face, didn’t want to truly know that he was done playing tennis.

 

He was supposed to go to the Olympics again next year. The Daily Mail had dubbed him “Britain’s brightest hope” after his gold medal win three years before. Harry had trained for that moment since he was old enough to swing a racquet, and once he had felt the sense of pride and accomplishment that accompanied standing on that podium with his national anthem echoing through the arena, nothing else would do. The desire to feel that way again kept him going when his training was kicking his arse. It was why he didn’t want the medic coming anywhere near him. If he was done with tennis, what else did he have?

 

*

 

Three months later and Harry was in a funk. It was a Friday night and there Harry was, in his pyjamas, on the lounge with a bottle of red and a bowl of pretzels, _Love Actually_ on the TV in front of him. He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. What had happened to him? It was a Friday night, and Friday nights used to mean training with Liam until he was sweating so much he couldn’t see. These days he seemed to spend not only his Friday nights with a takeaway and alcohol, but every other night as well. He dreaded to think what Liam would say about his diet when he went back to tennis. _If_ he went back.

 

The injury to his shoulder was as serious as he’d thought. A rotator cuff tear, so close to being severe enough for surgery. Harry was lucky though, or that was what he’d been told by everyone. And he knew they were right, but he sure didn’t feel all that lucky. Three weeks in a sling, nine months of physiotherapy and even then he had to wait another three months on top of that before he could start playing again. So he’d miss the 2016 Olympics, and if he didn’t get back on top of his game quickly, he would miss the qualifiers for the 2020 Olympics.

 

When he had whined his frustrations to Liam over the phone a month back while also making dinner, Liam had suggested spending some time with his friends. After Liam had hung up, Harry had stood still in his kitchen, spatula in hand, paying no mind to his burning food as he realised he didn’t actually have any friends. Liam was his only buddy, comrade, pal, amigo – whatever. His _coach_ was the only person he talked to outside of his family. How sad.

 

The startling awareness made him feel even more alone and isolated; he had months (at least) of recovery ahead and he’d be doing it all alone.

 

Later that week Liam had stopped by with some Chinese takeaway to check up on Harry, concerned after he hadn’t heard back from him after their phone call. He used the spare key under the doormat, and found Harry starfished in the middle of his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling. Harry’s head lolled to the right as he heard the footsteps, unsurprised at the intrusion. He knew Liam worried, especially since the injury.

 

“I have no friends, Liam,” Harry laughed humourlessly. Liam frowned. “You told me to hang out with friends, and I have none,” he sighed.

 

“H,” Liam began gently, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, “I’m sure you have people that, you know, you can talk to –“

 

“You, Liam, you’re it,” Harry said as he sat up, rolling his shoulders and slumping over onto Liam.

 

Liam knew that for Harry this was a real issue, but he couldn’t help but be touched, and he swung his arm over Harry’s shoulders and squeezed, mindful of his still tender injury. Harry rolled his eyes in response but there was a smile creeping through his sombre expression.

 

“How am I going to do it, though?” Harry expanded at Liam’s quizzical expression. “A whole year, Liam, with no one to talk to but you. You know I appreciate you, but that might get a bit –“ Harry cut himself off, reluctant to put the crux of his issues into actual words; then they’d become real.

 

Liam got the gist of it though, without Harry having to spell it out, and that lifted a weight of his shoulders.

 

“I think there’s forums...” Liam began stiltedly, head angled to the side in thought, trying to figure out if they did in fact exist.

 

Harry snorted. “I’m not going to trawl the Internet for friends, Liam. I might be – yeah,” truthfully unable to admit he was lonely, “but I’m not desperate,” he shook his head.

 

“Hmm,” Liam mused, scrubbing a hand over his chin as he tried to come up with another option. “What about online dating?” He looked at Harry hopefully. When Harry didn’t shoot down the idea straight away, Liam grinned gleefully.

 

“Brilliant!”

 

“Hold up, Liam.” Harry held up a hand. “Let’s just think about this a bit more, okay? For one, there are so many creepy dudes online. And secondly,” here Harry paused, “my face is also on the Internet...” He trailed off, looking over at Liam uncertainly.

 

But the more Harry considered it, the more he thought he might give it a go. After Liam left that night, Harry opened singletomingle.co.uk (apparently the UK’s hottest dating site, according to OK! Magazine), chewing his lip as he hesitated before pressing the red _Join now!_ button that he couldn’t take his eyes off. He wavered again at the prompt for his basic information, snorting to himself when he realised there was no one here to judge him. He hadn’t realised how hard it would be to describe himself, and the cursor sat blinking on his screen as he sunk back into the sofa, stumped.

 

 _If there was ever a time to be thankful that there was a Wikipedia page dedicated to himself_ , Harry thought, giving in and Googling his name. He stole bits and pieces, mostly the part that described his personal life, but adding that he was a competitive tennis player. He ticked the box for ‘interested in men’ after a short pause, he wasn’t technically “out” to the public, but that was simply because he hadn’t had a relationship since he went pro. He wasn’t ashamed, he reminded himself, and had nothing to hide. Once he finally decided on a few pictures to use, only one shirtless image of him (one of him playing tennis, and he looked quite good, if he did say so himself) made the cut, as he didn’t want to seem arrogant. He slowly typed out his debit card details, purposefully stalling. One last deep breath later, he pressed submit, and watched as the screen generated his “matches.”

 

At first glance, most of them appeared alright, though Harry was definitely going to steer clear of _Justin, aged 47, looking for someone who will let me spend all their money_. Not quite what he was looking for. A quick scroll down the page saw him tagging a few potential matches whose bios didn’t ring any alarm bells. His laptop pinged with a notification, a little envelope appearing in the corner of his browser to let him know he had a message from a match. Harry clicked on the envelope, resting his chin on his left hand as he did, but he was quickly left open-mouthed as the messages flooded in.

 

Defying his initial expectations, Harry felt excitement begin to pool in the depths of his body, thinking that maybe his online dating thing wouldn’t be as terrible as he thought.

 

His hopes were quickly dashed though, as each message he opened began with something along the lines of, “Hey tennis star. Want to let me suck you until you’re begging for release,” or sentiments with much more vulgarity that Harry immediately tried to block from his mind. He didn’t have an aversion to sex or anything, not that there was anything wrong with that, he just wanted something a little more substantial than a quick fuck.

 

Maybe that was his issue – maybe men these days didn’t want a proper relationship, to be wined and dined and wooed. Or maybe they just didn’t want that with him.

 

With each chat that left him feeling the same way, he grew more forlorn. Eventually he didn’t want to look at it anymore, and closed his laptop. He would probably delete the account in the morning.

 

Although it didn’t work out, thinking back on it, Harry knew that he was more grateful for Liam than ever, and even if he was his only friend, he was a damn good one. His support was immeasurable, and Harry knew that was what he really needed while his shoulder healed.

 

He sighed to himself as he refocused on the television, drawn out of his reverie and reminiscing by the sound of Christmas carols, which made him chuckle. His movie was up to Mark’s profession of love to Juliet, and he loved that part. With his mind back in present time, he stretched, wondering if a little more alcohol would solve his problems. He stood up from the sofa, watching as its paisley pattern flattened out without his weight on it. Back to the kitchen he went, opening the cupboard that he had dedicated to alcohol when he finally finished the pain meds. He was hopeful when the door swung out, only to be sorely disappointed when it revealed wood, not a single drop of alcohol in sight. Harry closed the door with a grumble, unenthusiastic about having to put on actual trousers to go and get more wine.

 

He wondered, as he buttoned up his favourite floral shirt, if it might just be easier to go out. He could forget himself and his worries for a night; perhaps try to fix his celibacy problem as a temporary solution to his romantic problems. A night out with perfect strangers and perfect alcohol – it sounded like something he needed.

 

Decision made, Harry put a little more effort into his appearance, slapping some moisturiser on his face and attempting to tame his short hair. After he cut it off, he assumed it would be easier to handle, but the bits at the back that would just not sit down proved him wrong every day. He sighed, eyeing those rebellious strands critically. By the time he got to a club, it would hopefully be too dark for anyone to notice.

 

He called a car for the ride to the club, intent on getting smashed. Even if he didn’t find a bloke to take home with him, he’d at least be able to sling back tequila shots like it was nobody’s business and throw some crazy shapes on the dance floor. When he arrived he kept his head down, hoping no one outside the club would recognise him. It was an innocuous black building with a tacky neon sign stretched across the front façade, but Harry loved it there. Or he used to, anyway, before he really stepped up his tennis game. To be honest, Harry couldn’t really remember the last time he’d set foot in the venue, but he hoped that the familiarity would settle his nerves. He sighed once he stepped inside, the pounding bass of the music washing over him, and he felt anonymous amongst the crowd as he headed for the bar. The interior was dimly lit from the door to the bar, but past that there were only strobes and flashes to guide the patrons. The walls were a deep blue and the floor was patterned in a gaudy tile that Harry appreciated.

 

Three shots in and Harry was in heaven. The beat was thrumming through his veins, aided by the alcohol, and his hips had begun swaying to the beat without his permission, and he giggled at their rebellion, letting them continue their rhythm while he sipped daintily on his bright pink cosmopolitan. He had asked the beautiful bartender if he could please have an umbrella on his drink instead of a lime wedge, and he’d chuckled before complying. Harry gave him a cheesy grin and tucked it behind his ear, subconsciously flicking his wrist to sweep his curls of his face before he remembered he cut it all off. His bottom lip jutted out, upset that he couldn’t twirl it around his fingers like he was used to, but his problems seemed to disappear when a pretty girl sat down on a stool beside him, tapping her fingers on the bartop.

 

Harry looked over; he could feel her eyes on the side of his face. And they were lovely eyes, her crystal clear blue eyes sparkling with the intermittent light of the strobes. He smiled at her and she smirked in return, placing one hand delicately over Harry’s wrist where it rested at the base of his glass and running the other through her long red hair.

 

She was interested, even in his inebriated state he could tell. He wanted to let her down gently, because he wasn’t interested in return, but he couldn’t get his words out. He did move his hand away from hers though, eyes scanning her outfit as he did. Short and tight, she wore a classic black dress with thin straps and tall red heels. He liked those, he mused, and wondered if they came in men’s sizes.

 

His eyes snapped back to hers when she opened her mouth, presumably to introduce herself. She was interrupted though, by the bartender placing two drinks down in front of them. He winked at Harry, and he smiled coyly back while his company frowned. She visibly shook it off, and held out her hand to Harry.

 

“June,” she said, while he shook her proffered hand.

 

“I’m Harry,” he drunkenly mumbled in reply, throwing back his drink. He had reached the stage of intoxication he was aiming for, and was content to enjoy his buzz with the lovely June to keep him company, if only platonically. He hummed to himself as he flagged the bartender down again, figuring one more drink couldn’t hurt. He turned to June to give her a polite smile, not wanting to ignore her completely but still humming whatever tune was in his head. They started chatting about menial things, mostly how their day was.

 

When his drink arrived, he downed it quickly and giggled as the bubbles gurgled in his stomach, pouting into his empty glass when he realised it was finished. June smiled fondly in response and held out a hand to Harry while rising from her stool.

 

“Would you like to dance, Harry?”

 

Harry stood as well, opening his mouth. This was his opportunity, to tell June that while it was lovely to meet her and he would love to dance with her, he was a gay man. Before he could utter a word, his eyes met a stranger’s over June’s shoulder and his surroundings fell away. He was enchanted.

 

This man’s eyes were blue too; the most gorgeous shade, and they far eclipsed June’s. Harry couldn’t move, frozen and feet stuck to the floor as he drank in the man’s features. Soft looking brown hair messily tamed over his head, high cheekbones, stubble and a cheeky smile made Harry melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. The mysterious stranger couldn’t keep his eyes off Harry either, which made him preen even as his cheeks pinkened. He gave the stranger a shy smile, looking over at him from under his lashes. The man grinned in response, inclining his head to ask Harry to come over. Harry bit his lip, excited at the prospect of his happily-ever-after-for-a-night after all.

 

It was only as he went to walk across the bar to greet the man that had him so overwhelmed that he remembered June still standing in front of him. Looking back on it, Harry couldn’t be sure if he truly didn’t see her enraged expression or if he just chose to ignore it, but he murmured a polite excuse me with a smile, gently touching her forearm as he squeezed past.

 

To be honest, if he were to go back to that night, he wouldn’t do anything differently, even if it might have changed his circumstances. The fact that something he didn’t believe in, something that was only passed down in stories, turned out to be real, was pretty magical.

 

So no, he wouldn’t change approaching the blue eyed beauty, smiling coyly as he leaned against the counter. The man returned the flirty expression, sliding his hand out from underneath the other where it rested on the bar.

 

“Hello, handsome,” the stranger giggled as he spoke.

 

Harry barked out a laugh, slapping the hand he would’ve used to shake the man’s over his mouth. He shook his head as he grinned, pleased at the cheese.

 

“Hi there,” he replied. “Just Harry is fine,” he smirked as they held each other’s hands, not moving them up and down but soaking in the warmth they emanated.

 

“I’m Louis,” the stranger ( _Louis_ – he tested it out in his head, wondering what it would sound like if Louis was underneath him) said as he slid his hand out of Harry’s and turned to face the bar, downing the last of what looked like beer from his glass. He spun back to Harry, and this was the second time tonight someone had held their hand out to him and asked him to dance, but this time there was no hesitation as he confidently placed his hand once more in Louis’ and led him onto the dark dance floor.

 

The lights flashed in bursts, illuminating their heavy gazes, as they stood unmoving in the middle of a crowd of sweaty gyrating bodies. Louis made the first move, stepping closer to Harry until the space between their bodies was non-existent. Harry didn’t know how much Louis had drank before meeting him, but if the glazed look in his eyes was anything to go by, then they were at least as drunk as each other. It didn’t stop the hunger from washing over him as Louis swivelled his hips against Harry’s, hands on his waist to encourage the taller of the two to move with him. A few beats in and Harry found his rhythm, throwing his hands over Louis’ neck as they danced together, sweat already starting to bead on their temples.

 

They exchanged loaded looks, Louis grinning dirtily as the bass changed to something deeper, and he ground down on Harry, victoriously repeating the motion when Harry threw his head back and gasped. There was no concept of time on that dance floor, just the feeling of Louis’ arse against his crotch and his skin against Harry’s wandering hands. The heat was overwhelming, and Harry couldn’t distinguish between the heat of the club, his overheated body and the searing chemistry that he and Louis had. He didn’t know how long they’d been dancing, grinding and teasing, but he wanted more.

 

He slowly ran his hand up Louis’ torso from where it had been resting against his hip, ducking his head to whisper in Louis’ ear. Louis' breath hitched at the sensation, subconsciously leaning into the motion.

 

“Want to get out of here?” Harry breathed, unsubtly grinding into Louis’ arse to get the message across.

 

Louis nodded frantically, head falling back onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry pressed a sweet kiss to Louis’ cheek in a move that didn’t fit the charged atmosphere, but Louis was endeared. Their fingers were intertwined as they left the club; hailing a taxi and giggling all the way back to Harry’s flat.

 

*

 

Completely forgotten about, June looked on from her place at the bar, where she hadn’t moved since Harry had left her. She was fuming, although she held her head high and her expression neutral. She had been abandoned, for a boy. Her fingers clenched in a fist just thinking about it.

 

She recognised that her reaction wasn’t normal, and usually she’d be able to brush a rejection off, but something about Harry just couldn’t make her let go.

 

So she decided a little meddling might make her feel better, and wordlessly cast a charm over Harry, knowing that when the time was right she would have a little explaining to do. Nonetheless, the whole ordeal had taken its toll, and she stifled a yawn as she set about collecting her purse and re-adjusting her dress. With a final glance around the room, she exited the club into the cool London night.

 

*

 

It was nine weeks later and Harry was concerned. It wasn’t just that his shoulder was acting up (since the night he spent with Louis, moving his arm too quickly resulted in a dull ache), but something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was mental, the way he pathetically couldn’t help but relive each moment of his and Louis’ embrace even though it had been over two months.

 

He groaned, flopping onto his bed, mindful of his injury. Why couldn’t he just forget? He relaxed into his soft beige duvet, trying to force the image of Louis bent over him out of his mind.

 

That may have been part of the reason he felt so odd, but Harry was sure it wasn’t the entire reason. He’d been feeling a bit ill in the past week, but put it down to the bug that was travelling around the city. It hadn’t passed though, and now Harry was getting frustrated. It wasn’t like he spent a whole lot of time outside his flat, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be nauseous and sweaty while trying to indulge his inner couch potato.

 

After a full seven days feeling awful, and with some gentle prodding from Liam, he gave in and went to see a doctor. Ever since his injury he’d tried (and managed quite successfully) to avoid doctors. Something about the sterile white environment made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Nevertheless, there he was, sat uncomfortably on a white plastic chair in the waiting room, accompanied by a few children, their parents and a couple of elderly gentleman across the room.

 

He sighs heavily as he waits, rubbing his hands listlessly over his jean clad thighs. Long, ringed fingers reached into his pocket to pull his phone out, and he entertained himself with Jewel Quest 2 until his name was called.

 

He followed the doctor’s billowing coat down the hallway, intrigued, wishing he could get that kind of _swish_ with his own coats. The doctor directed him into an examination room with an arm out, smiling kindly, and Harry sat down in the chair, smiling in return.

 

“So Harry, I’m Doctor Thomas,” the doc began, Harry reaching out to shake his hand. “The receptionist gave me the list of symptoms you described over the phone,” Harry hummed in confirmation, “and the first thing I want to try is a pregnancy test.”

 

The world stopped. Or at least that’s how it felt to Harry once those words came out of Doctor Thomas’ mouth. _Pregnant?_ How? Was it even possible?

 

Of course it was possible, Harry scolded himself, these days it was more heard of, though certainly not common. But. The only person Harry had been _intimate_ with since his injury was –

 

Louis.

 

Shit.

 

The doctor was looking at him expectantly, and Harry realised he never gave an answer.

 

“A pregnancy test,” he managed to choke out. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a moment.

 

As the doctor recited his symptoms back to him, the reality started to sink in. Even without the test, Harry knew he was pregnant. He fit every single symptom of pregnancy, and it explained so much. If he wasn’t so terrified and confused, he probably would’ve been relieved at finally having an explanation.

 

He was terrified and confused though. Terrified because if it was real, if it was irrefutably confirmed in this test, then he was having a baby. He was going to be a father at 25. Something he didn’t think he’d have for years, due to tennis. And all that meant he had to decide if he was going to track down Louis. It had only been a one-night stand, and in the morning they hadn’t exchanged information, so Harry had no idea where to start. He thought he’d never see the man again. Additionally, he was confused, because he was certain they’d used a condom. In fact, he remembered berating Louis for dropping it on the floor after he’d taken it off. He hated to steal the cliché line, “guess we were the 2% the correctly used condom didn’t work for,” but he wasn’t sure what other explanation there could be. 

 

Harry peed on the stick the doctor gave him, placing it in a cup before trudging back to the examination room. When he got back, the doctor had everything set up to complete the test. Before he even announced the results, Harry knew what they’d be. He was pregnant.

 

“As male pregnancies are rarer, false results are more likely, so I’d like to also take a blood test. This will also help me assess both yours and the baby’s health. However, I’m fairly confident that you’re ten weeks pregnant. Congratulations, Harry.”

 

He mumbled a thanks to Doctor Thomas is a daze, head spinning with this life changing information. He was spaced out on the drive home, changing gears on autopilot and not really paying attention to the route. _Oh God_ , he thought, he had to tell his mum. Not that Harry thought she would have a problem with it, except for the definite shock (and possible early grave, as she would say) and the inevitable concerned questions. But first, he wanted to nap.

 

Spreadeagled over the covers, Harry couldn’t be bothered to remove his shoes or clothes and was out in seconds. Something strange was happening though; it didn’t feel like his usual dream state. He felt present and aware, as if he were still awake. The field he was standing in was rolling in fog, and he shivered at the eerie atmosphere. A tall figure stood at the other end of the field, and it beckoned him forward with a bony hand. There was a tug in his stomach that compelled him forwards, through the thick fog that parted under his strides, until he was a few feet away from the shadowed stranger.

 

They stepped forward, a stray shaft of light illuminating their features, and Harry tried to take a step back in confusion, because it was June – the woman from the club.

 

“Hello, Harry,” she purred, caressing Harry’s cheek. He couldn’t flinch away, frozen where she wanted him. “Fancy seeing you here,” she giggled. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve brought you to this place,” she sighed when Harry didn’t respond, gesturing at the expansive open space.

 

Harry managed to nod, although it took an alarming amount of effort. June looked gleeful at the movement, clasping her hands under her chin.

 

“You’re moving!” She exclaimed. It seemed to be the motivation she needed. “Well, Harry, the thing is, I was quite intent on taking you home that night,” there was no other night June could have been talking about, so she didn’t specify, “but instead, you cast me off as a reject for some boy,” she spat venomously. If Harry had been in his right mind and able to speak, he would’ve defended Louis. As it was, he had to stand there and listen to June insult his crush. Not nice.

 

It did, however, cement in Harry’s mind that he made the right choice in partner that night.

 

“As punishment for your callous throwaway, I cast a charm on you.”

 

Harry had enough agency to widen his eyes in horror. Witchcraft. Something only talked about over campfires in the dark to scare youngsters from misbehaving. But here Harry was, faced with a witch and her wrath, and he was suffering the consequences. He looked down at his abdomen, as if he could stare through his skin into his body where his baby was growing. There was a question in his eyes as he raised his gaze to stare at June, and she answered with a wicked smile.

 

“How, you ask? I grew you a uterus. Quite controversial, very rare, almost impossible. But doable. You might have noticed a rise of male pregnancies in the last few years,” June tapped her nose with her pointer finger conspiratorially, “so I added you to the list.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. She raised her hand; arm outstretched to the side and wiggled her fingers.

 

In time with her movements, Harry’s world began to quiver and shake. He blinked rapidly, trying to dissipate the dizziness it caused. As the dream began to dissolve, June’s voice echoed in Harry’s ear.

 

“Good luck, Harry Styles.”

 

He woke with a start. Sometime during his sleep he’d wrestled his way under the covers, and they pooled around his waist as his chest heaved, sweaty and overwhelmed. He rested back against the headboard, his heart rate slowing down even as he thought over the details of his dream. Just the fact that he could remember every creepy detail confirmed it was all real, as usually he couldn’t recall a single event.

 

So, a bloody witch cursed him because she was jealous. He rubbed at his jaw, contemplating the madness of it all. He could honestly say he hadn’t expected it. Instead of bursting into tears thinking about what his life had become, he grabbed his laptop off the floor and powered it up, intent on finding an online cure. Harry had always expected to start playing again once his shoulder completely healed, but a baby would change that. Especially if the other father had no idea.

 

It was something he needed to spend more time thinking about before he made a final decision, and even then, he knew his indecisiveness meant that the decision was still subject to change.

 

His initial Internet exploration didn’t turn up anything useful, but then, when typing _a witch made me pregnant_ into the search bar, does one really expect anything of substance? He tried refining his search, even Googling June herself, and that seemed to do the trick. Even without a surname June was all over the Internet, in articles and forums that discussed Harry’s situation with alarmingly similar detail. So he jumped straight in, poring over reversal spells, potions and rituals.

 

There were options that would entirely reverse the effects of June’s curse and make it as if nothing had happened, success stories about transferring the contents of the uterus into a woman’s body and suggestions about terminating the pregnancy altogether. Harry immediately wrote off the last option, having almost grown to appreciate the peanut growing inside of him. As for the other choices, the more Harry read, the less he considered actually changing his situation.

 

He sighed heavily, thunking his head against the headboard. His whole career would have to be put on hold if he went ahead with the pregnancy, and sport was fickle. Just because he qualified for the Olympics this time around didn’t mean it would be the same next time. Tennis was his life, and it might nearly kill him if he gave it up, but he’d always wanted kids. Obviously he had assumed he’d either go with a surrogate or adoption, but he was presented with a unique opportunity to carry and deliver his own child, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to give that up.

 

Faced with the finality of his decision, his fingers twitched towards his phone, itching to spill everything to Liam or his mum. He held off, thinking he’d like to get used to the idea before telling Liam his job was basically redundant. His mum though, he could definitely go for a long chat with his mum. He stretched over to the bedside table, unplugging his phone from the charger and got comfortable in his bed, sinking into the pillows.

 

“Mum?” He asked when she picked up, “It’s Harry.”

 

“I know dear,” she responded, and he could hear the smile in her voice, “I have caller ID.”

 

He snorted to himself. “Right.” It was silent for a few moments.

 

“So, darling, what can I do for you?” He could picture her as she spoke, sitting with her legs crossed at the kitchen table that Harry couldn’t ever remember not being there, and he sighed.

 

“I just wanted to hear your voice, mum,” and Anne cooed in response. He paused, trying to pluck up the courage to blurt out what had happened since they last spoke. “Also... I’m pregnant.”

 

A small gasp from Anne’s end was the only indication she’d heard what he said, the line silent while neither of them spoke.

 

“Honey, this isn’t funny,” she sounded like she was forcing herself to make a joke, fervently hoping Harry would chime in with a _got you!_ But he didn’t.

 

“I’m not joking,” he whispered, terrified and a little ashamed. “There was this night a few weeks back, I met a boy,” his lips curved up unknowingly, “he was so lovely mum.” He sighed fondly. “But there was this girl too, and she was jealous.” His mum made a noise of assent, urging him to continue. “Turns out she was a witch and cast a spell on me that would make me pregnant when I, you know, with Louis.” His cheeks were red, he could tell, stumbling over his words as Anne gasped again.

 

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” she said tearfully. “What are you going to do? What about tennis?”

 

“I can’t get rid of it mum, I did a lot of research and it made me sick. You know I’ve always wanted kids. Tennis will just have to wait.” He pleaded for her to understand.

 

“Okay baby, it’s up to you. If you need anything, I’m here, okay? Robin and Gemma too.”

 

“Thanks mum,” he murmured, telling her he loved her and saying his goodbyes.

 

“Oh, Harry, one more thing.” He hummed in response. “What about the boy?”

 

All the air in his lungs whooshed out in one long exhale, and he replied, “I’m not sure.” He could hear her frown, even though he didn’t say anything. “We didn’t exchange numbers, I don’t even have a last name. How am I supposed to find him?”

 

“He deserves to know, Harry. I’m sure you’ll find a way,” she finished sweetly, and hung up before he could respond. He pulled the phone away from his ear and harrumphed in annoyance.

 

He set the phone down beside him on the bed. He massaged his temples, getting a headache just from _thinking_ about trying to track Louis down. Instead of getting started on that, he decided on a few more hours of sleep instead, and maybe just wallowing for the rest of the week as opposed to doing anything productive. It sounded like a solid plan.

  

*

 

Only a week later and Harry was over wallowing and feeling sorry for himself. So he didn’t know where his baby daddy was. So what? There were plenty of successful single parents out there, and he told himself that as he wrestled on his jeans, getting ready to head down to the local bakery and satisfy his sugar cravings. No strict training regime, no diet and a pregnancy had really fucked up Harry’s metabolism, and he’d already put on weight. He wasn’t bothered though; he was actually pretty excited. Once he’d committed to the baby, he really started to love it. He’d been talking to his little peanut all week; mostly complaining to be honest, but in that annoying voice adults use around children and pets. The weight gain was just part of the magical process, and it distracted him from thinking about his injury and career. Possibly not the healthiest way of coping, but at least it was working.

 

Once he’d finally managed to dress himself he smoothed his hand over his stomach, patting down his pockets for his keys, wallet and phone and closing the front door behind him. He chose to walk to the bakery; thinking a bit of fresh air would do him good after being cooped up for most of the week.

 

Lost in thoughts of his future, he almost missed the bakery. Set back on the street, its red brick walls housed a cosy looking space, the interior warmly lit and welcoming. Harry stepped inside; the glass door ringing the bell perched above it as he did. The shop appeared empty, not surprising considering it was ten o'clock on a weekday. His eyes were laser focused on the display case of pastries as he approached, scratching his chin absently as he attempted to choose only one. A small clearing of a throat alerted him to the presence of someone else, coming to the realisation he’d been horribly rude by not greeting the cashier. He looked up, apology on his lips, but his breath was stolen from him as the two met eyes.

 

“Louis,” he whispered, so quiet he didn’t think the other man would hear, but the way his eyes lit up and a smile graced his lips were all the confirmation Harry needed, and his cheeks reddened in response.

 

“Hi Harry,” Louis greeted him shyly. “Welcome to Barb’s Bakery,” he glanced around as he spoke, as if he were seeing it all for the first time.

 

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, not quite sure what the appropriate action was here. Did he bring up the sex? The pining? The baby? He almost snorted aloud at the last thought, catching himself just in time. However that caused him to choke on air, resulting in a coughing fit that almost had Louis coming around the counter for, still looking concerned even after Harry waved him away.

 

When Harry could breathe properly again, gulping deep breaths to compensate for the lack of oxygen, he found a cup of water held in front of his face by a delicate hand. He smiled his thanks as he downed it in one go, looking around awkwardly for somewhere to sit down the cup.

 

Louis took it from him, placing it down on a bench behind him. “So,” he rested his elbows against the counter, “what can I get for you, Harry?”

 

Harry hummed, mouth twisting in thought as he refocused on the display case. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly out of his depth, interacting with Louis while his mind was simultaneously filled with inappropriate and explicit memories along with idyllic dreams of the future. He could also feel Louis’ eyes on him, and it left him feeling odd. Not uncomfortable – he could never be uncomfortable under his gaze, but definitely awkward.

 

How was he supposed to act around the oblivious father of his unborn baby? The two of them had shared a night of unbridled passion and intensity because it was understood that it was one night; one night where nothing else mattered and all their worries could disappear. It was perfect. And Harry didn’t think they realistically expected to see each other again. Harry could only speak for himself, but the fervent hope that had been bubbling away inside him since that night was an entirely different matter.

 

Yet there they were. It felt like fate, if Harry was being honest.

 

Sidetracked, he had forgotten all about the pastries, sighing as he tried to actually read the ingredients. He chanced a glance up at Louis, and blushed as he found him staring back fondly, clearly amused at how long Harry was taking to choose a treat. Evidently Harry took pastry selection very seriously.

 

He eventually asked for a strawberry one, bypassing the Nutella one due to previous experience. It had been an overload of sugar and even at his age he had been bouncing off the walls.

 

As Louis bagged the pastry, Harry thought he might try his hand at actual conversation.

 

“So, um, how have you been?” He winced as soon as he spoke, berating himself for asking something so lame. Louis twitched though, as if he was stopping himself from looking up, instead continuing to ring up Harry’s purchase.

 

“I’ve been well, thanks,” he replied. Their conversation was so stilted, Harry should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

 

“That’s – that’s good,” Harry nodded, even though Louis wasn’t even looking at him.

 

“Yeah. That’ll be £3.75, please.” Harry handed over the coins, their fingers brushing during the exchange, and Harry shivered. “And you?” He finally looked up as he asked, and the eye contact was a shock, Harry startling, not having time to school his expression from one of immeasurable fondness into polite interest. He blushed again, cursing his traitorous body. Blushing seemed to be the only thing he was doing around Louis.

 

“Um, really good, yeah,” he smiled, taking the pastry bag and digging the toe of his shoe into the linoleum lined floor, reluctant to leave.

 

“Good, good,” Louis replied distractedly, cracking his knuckles while seemingly debating say whatever was really on his mind. “I’m um, working again tomorrow, if you, you know, wanted to stop by?” His fingers had switched to drumming on the till, and he couldn’t look Harry in the eye. Harry didn’t know why Louis thought he had any reason to be nervous. As if his answer would be anything but yes.

 

“Yeah,” he breathed, heart quickening in excitement.

 

Louis’ head snapped up, a beautiful smile lighting up his face, eyes crinkling. “Yeah?” He asked again, as if he needed another confirmation for it to seem real, and Harry nodded quickly, biting his lip. They stood smiling at each other until Harry’s stomach grumbled and Louis chuckled, Harry smiling in embarrassment.

 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said slowly as he backed up to the door, still reluctant to step outside of the bubble they had unknowingly created.

 

“I hope so,” Louis replied, and that was all Harry needed, and he spun around to confidently stride out of the bakery, overwhelmed with excitement about seeing Louis again the next day.

 

That night, after Harry had devoured his delicious danish (and if he imagined Louis’ delicate hands shaping pastry and kneading dough, no one had to know), he was almost too wired to sleep, mind stuck replaying his encounter with Louis.

 

His crush was bad, Harry could admit that to himself, but it had been so long since he’d felt like that, and he wanted to let himself just feel it. It still didn’t make him want to tell Liam, but Harry supposed that if something ever eventuated between him and Louis that as his coach and friend, Liam should probably know.

 

He tossed and turned for hours, twisting his limbs in the sheet while he couldn’t turn his brain off from thinking about Louis’ smile, his hair, his voice. Excited didn’t even begin to cover what Harry was feeling ahead of tomorrow, and as he finally drifted off, it was with the wish that the morning would hurry and up and arrive.

 

Harry was ashamed to say he dressed to impress, stepping out of his steaming shower to his favourite striped pants and button up shirt laid out on his bed. He rubbed softly over his belly after dressing, hoping that soon he’d start to show. After admittedly rushing through the rest of getting ready, impatient to see Louis, he grabbed a banana on his way out the door.

 

It was absurdly early by the time he reached the bakery, and it was embarrassing, but Harry was too enamoured to care. Just gone 9am, the shop had already been open for two hours, the bakers preparing the day’s food two more before that. The store was empty again when Harry walked in, smiling at the jingling bell above the door. He realised as he stood in the entrance that he never actually asked Louis what time he started work, but his worries were alleviated when Louis wandered out of the back room, beckoned by the bell. His front was covered by a white apron with Barb’s Bakery printed across it, but Harry could see the grey t-shirt and blue jeans peeking out from underneath. He didn’t notice it was Harry at first, dusting flour off his hands, but when he glanced up, his face glowed with the force of his grin.

 

“Harry!” He cried, yesterday's awkwardness seemingly forgotten, rounding the counter to rush forward and hug Harry, and he immediately sank into it, despite its unexpectedness. He felt safe encompassed in those arms, and he sighed imperceptibly in comfort.

 

“Morning, Louis,” he replied, circling his arms around Louis’ waist. The smell of sugar and freshly baked bread clung to Louis skin and hair, and Harry breathed in as subtly as possible, wanting to remember the scent.

 

“You’re a little earlier than I was expecting, to be honest,” Louis teased, and Harry blushed, knowing he was right.

 

“’Was just excited,” Harry mumbled honestly. He couldn’t help but let Louis in on his excitement. It was a little because he wanted Louis to return the feeling, but a lot because he was already lying about the baby by omission, and he didn’t really want to lie about anything else. He knew he made the right choice when Louis’ eyes crinkled so much they almost closed and his entire body relaxed. He waved Harry forward towards the display case as he situated himself back around behind the till.

 

With only the banana in his stomach, Harry was starving. Faced with all the sugar, he really had no idea what to pick. There were cream-filled chocolate covered buns, glazed and powdered donuts dusted with sugar, danishes like the one Harry had yesterday filled with every fruit imaginable and so much more. He took even longer than yesterday to decide, and looked up at Louis helplessly, pouting. Louis just laughed, finding great enjoyment in Harry’s struggle. Eventually Harry sighed, pulling out the wallet he thankfully remembered to grab in his rush out the door.

 

“I’ll take one of everything,” he said, nodded decisively.

 

Louis paused, a little shocked, “Are you sure?” He questioned sceptically. Harry merely nodded again, handing over his card, knowing he'd probably regret it later. Louis chuckled, tapping it on the machine. “Coming right up.”

 

He handed Harry back his card and swung the glass doors of the case open. He placed a stack of paper bags at head level, and methodically placed one of every sweet treat into a bag, sliding it over to Harry’s side of the counter before moving on to the next one.

 

When Louis had finished, Harry laughed at all the bags he’d accumulated. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to carry them all. When he voiced his concerns to Louis, a thoughtful smirk graced his face.

 

“Why don’t you just eat here?” He shrugged as he spoke, gesturing around to all the empty tables.

 

Harry considered the offer. To be honest, he wasn’t ever going to say anything but yes, because it meant more time spent with Louis, even if he was busy with, you know, actually working. He tried to scoop up all the bags into his arms so he could take them over to a table that faced the counter, but each time he attempted it, he always dropped a couple. Louis finally took pity on him, chuckling as he clasped the last two bags in his hands and followed Harry over to his chosen table.

 

After Louis set down the bags, Harry expected Louis to return to the back room so he could finish doing whatever it was he was occupied with before Harry interrupted. Instead, Harry was surprised but delighted when Louis took the seat opposite him. Louis must’ve caught Harry’s startled look and glances over to the back room, because he told Harry that his colleague Niall would take care of it. Harry glanced down, pleased, and opened the first brown paper bag so he had something to do with his hands.

 

He shuffled a little on his seat before craning his neck forward and biting into soft doughy goodness. He hummed around the mouthful, eyes closed in satisfaction. He swallowed, licking his lips to rid them of any crumbs and darted his eyes up to Louis’. He paused though, frozen at Louis’ scandalised look. There was something else there too, although Harry couldn’t place it. He gazed questioningly at Louis, silently asking him to explain.

 

“The way you eat,” Louis began, his left hand carelessly gesturing to encompass Harry’s whole face, “it’s obscene.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You do this thing, right, where you stick your tongue out before biting,” here Louis demonstrated and Harry had to laugh. “And then that sound you made, Jesus Harry, it was basically a moan.”

 

Harry looked affronted. “Excuse you, it was not. It was a polite sound of enthusiasm at this great donut. Which, by the way, I was going to complement you on, but now I don’t think I’m going to.” He turned his head away snobbily, nose up in the air, but the teasing smile on his face gave him away.

 

Louis just shook his head, resting his elbows on the table and leaning his chin on top.

 

“Eat your sweets, Harold,” he chided. Harry pouted, but was inwardly ecstatic that they’d progressed to nicknames.

 

“Fine,” he acquiesced, “but only if you talk while I do. Tell me about yourself. Last time we were together there wasn’t much talking going on.” Harry wasn’t talking about the day before, and he knew Louis understood what he meant.

 

“Au contraire, dear Harold. I seem to remember a lot of talking,” he remarked with a cheeky smirk, which saw Harry go red immediately.

 

He coughed loudly, before resuming eating, but sent Louis a wink to let him know he was just teasing. The bright smile Louis tried to hold back in response made his temporary humiliation worth it.

 

“Well, then. I guess I’ll start. Louis Tomlinson, 26 – soon to be 27, unfortunately – born and raised in good old Doncaster, but I moved to London about seven years ago now after I dropped out of uni.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Turns out it wasn’t for me. I was doing drama, and I hated the rigidity of it. I thought it might be a little better once I was out of secondary and because it's an art, but. Oh well. Now I’m here,” he threw his arms out wide, “and it’s good. I’m happy; can’t complain,” he smiled at Harry. “That’s me done, I guess. And you’re one sweet treat down. I think it’s your turn now.”

 

Harry wipes his hands and face on a napkin, pondering where to start. “Harry Styles, 25. I was born in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire, and I moved to London when I was 18 to start professional tennis. So that’s what I do, um, I play tennis and stuff.”

 

“And stuff,” Louis mocks. “Yes Harold, you’re world famous and an Olympic champion,” Louis teases gently. “Tennis and stuff. Honestly Harold, show a bit of pride,” he tuts, winking. Harry giggled, covering his mouth with his powdered fingers from where he’d been picking at another donut. His smiled fell though, thinking about his shoulder.

 

“I got injured though. Messed up my shoulder pretty badly. I have a fair few months of recovery left, but it feels pretty good.” He tried to smile convincingly at Louis. “Hopefully I’ll be ready to start playing again next year.”

 

Louis pouted sadly at Harry’s sagging shoulders, trying to imagine what he must feel like.

 

“Alrighty,” he clapped his hands, startling Harry. He looked precious, wide-eyed and open mouthed, and Louis had to laugh, cackling at his expression. Once he’d calmed down, it was to find a fond smile curving Harry’s lips, and his cheeks pinkened slightly, hoping Harry didn’t catch it. “C’mon H,” he stood from his chair, collecting all of the bags Harry had left, and taking them with him. “We’re going to do some baking.”

 

Harry stood immediately, following straight after Louis (not before cleaning up his rubbish though) and into the back room and kitchen. He was so excited; he loved baking. He’d done a lot when he lived at home, and while the habit had taken a back seat once his career kicked off, he’d picked it back up while in recovery.

 

Louis was waiting for him in the middle of the room, looking reminiscent of an excited child with his hesitant stance and bright eyes. Louis explained to him what they were going to be doing, and Harry was quickly introduced to Niall, who he discovered was Irish and Louis’ best friend, before Louis was shooing the brunette out to man the till. He was truly trying to pay attention to what Louis was saying, but all he could focus on was his passion. It was clear that Louis loved it at Barb’s and Harry felt privileged that Louis was sharing his enthusiasm with him, even if it was just to make him feel better. Louis really was perfect in every way that counted – perfect for Harry anyway. He couldn’t help but thank fate or destiny or whoever it was that led him to Louis again, because he knew how much emptier his life would be without the other man.

 

It had only been two days but Harry’s entire world felt flipped upside down. Harry fervently hoped that everything worked out; he didn’t think he could go back to how his life was before Louis. It was this thought that cemented Harry’s knowledge that he had to tell Louis about the baby. The struggle was how. It wasn’t something could really be brought up in casual conversation, and he could imagine how that would go, holding back a snort as he thought about the different ways Louis could react. As the day wore on and they barely spent a second apart, it was always in the back of Harry’s mind, but he never came up with a solution.

 

It was approaching 5, Harry and Louis the only ones left after Niall left at 3, and Harry felt more relaxed than he had in months, thanks to the baking and more importantly Louis’ company. He still couldn’t pin it down but Louis just made him calm. He really didn’t want to leave though, didn’t want the day to be over, and his shoulders slumped in relief and his heart sped up with hope when Louis stopped him as he was about to open the door.

 

“H?” He called, Harry’s heart still fluttering with every new nickname. He paused, and turned around to face Louis, clutching the few pastries and biscuits and things they didn’t get to during the day. Louis’ expression was unreadable, but he looked nervous, hands fidgeting by his sides. “I was wondering if,” he paused uncertainly, “if you’d want to maybe come over for dinner this weekend?” He asked softly, as if scared for the response.

 

But this was Louis, and he should have known by now that Harry could never say no to him. “Of course Lou,” he smiled reassuringly, “that sounds lovely.” He wandered back over to Louis, grabbing a napkin and a marker. “Here’s my number, text me and we can work out the details, yeah?” He smiled again, softly patting Louis’ hand, and turned to leave. He needed to get out before he did something embarrassing, like squeal as if he was a teenager with a crush again. That’s certainly what he felt like though, and he couldn’t care less.

 

*

 

The two of them had been texting back and forth, and had decided to set the date of their dinner to two days from their last meeting – the coming Saturday. On the morning of, Harry was vibrating with nervous energy, cleaning his flat from top to bottom, even though it wasn’t even his place that was hosting the dinner. He groomed himself top to bottom too, because even though it was totally ambiguous about whether or not it was a date, the routine calmed Harry down, enough so he was in the right headspace when it was time for him to head to Louis’.

 

He’d forgone his skinny jeans, instead going for a black wide-legged trouser and a black long sleeved button up, which he’d tucked into his pants and rolled up the sleeves. And, of course, he left the top five buttons undone. He finished the look with some black boots and had attempted to do something with his hair. With one final glance around his flat, a habit he'd recently become aware of, he flicked off the lights, plunging him into darkness, and settled into his Range Rover.

 

When he arrived, a few minutes prior to their arranged time, he could see the lights on in Louis’ flat. He sat stationery in the car until it was right on 7. He heaved a sigh, biting his lip as he looked back up at the lit home, a beacon in the dark night. It felt a little bit like it was calling to him, beckoning him inside with its warmth. He stepped out of the car, jogging up the stairs to the entrance. He pressed the buzzer for Louis’ place, the speaking crackling to life.

 

“Hello?” Louis’ voice broke through the static.

 

“Hi, Lou. It’s Harry.”

 

The lock clicked open immediately, and Harry stepped inside. He didn’t pay attention to the lobby area, preoccupied with thoughts of the coming hours. Stopping outside the door, he took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes to calm the butterflies. Usually a confident person, Harry was fraught with nerves; he really wanted the evening to go well. He wanted more of Louis, and he hoped Louis felt the same.

 

It was with that thought he knocked on the door, swinging open immediately to reveal Louis on the other side as if he had been standing there waiting. Harry blushed at the thought, digging his toe into the carpeted hallway.

 

“Hi Harry,” Louis smiled sweetly, ushering him inside.

 

With the door closed behind them, they faced each other silently, drinking each other in. Louis’ soft fringe was swept to the side, and he had on a silky looking long sleeved green shirt, which looked amazing. He had paired it with black skinny jeans, and his feet were endearingly bare. He wiggled them when Harry pointed it out, shrugging shyly. Not wanting him to feel embarrassed, Harry promptly copied him, lining his shoes and socks up by the door. He turned back around, and his face softened at the fond and amused look Louis was giving him. He shrugged in response and stepped forward to hug Louis hello. Their arms wound around each other, emanating warmth, comfort and security even after only knowing each other a short time.

 

They pulled apart, Louis keeping a hold of Harry’s hand, and gently led him into the kitchen, where a dining table was set up in the centre and two places were set, framing the food.

 

“It looks amazing, Lou,” Harry said genuinely. Louis smiled his thanks and pulled out Harry’s chair for him, loving the pink blush that brushed his cheeks in return of the gesture.

 

“It’s um, chicken stuffed with mozzarella and wrapped in parma ham. I hope that’s okay? I didn’t ask for any dietary requirements so –”

 

“It’s perfect,” Harry boldly leaned across the table to grab Louis’ hand reassuringly. He pulled back only to grab his knife and fork, looking for confirmation that he could dig in. He moaned heartily at the first bite, overwhelmed with the flavours. Harry couldn’t help himself, shovelling the food into his mouth with barely a care for manners. He was starving, despite having eaten lunch. The food was just so good, it was satisfying cravings Harry didn’t even know he had. When his plate was clear, he had to restrain himself from licking the remains of the homemade mash off it, refusing to stoop that low.

 

He almost felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, remembering how good it tasted. Maybe Louis should just cook for him all the time. Then he’d never have to go without such amazing food.

 

Harry was relieved Louis didn’t serve any wine with the meal, or offer any afterwards when they sat down on the sofa to watch a film. He did suggest hot chocolate though, which Harry enthusiastically accepted. He laughed when, five minutes later, Louis had a foamy moustache to accompany his regular scruff, and he tried and failed to lick it off. They spent the rest of the night on the sofa, not paying any attention to the movie, and continuing to chat long after it was done. When trying to recall what they talked about later, he honestly couldn’t remember. It was everything and nothing; it was one of the best nights of Harry’s life.

 

It was after midnight when they parted ways, and Harry didn’t want to go. It was a recurring theme around Louis, he realised, never wanting to leave his side. It was no different that night, playing with Louis’ hands in his own so he could stall for time. If Louis’ expression was anything to go by, he was perfectly happy for Harry to stay right where he was.

 

Harry noticed he started to do that shuffling thing again, one of his nervous habits. He looked into Louis’ eyes, willing him to spill what he was thinking about.

 

“Do you think –” he began then paused, hesitating, “do you think maybe you’d want to go out on a date sometime?” He said it all in one breath, blurting it out before he lost the nerve.

 

Harry had never nodded so much or so quickly in his life, yanking Louis into his arms and squeezing him tightly. “Oh my God, yeah, I’d love to.” He swayed them gently, humming with happiness in Louis’ ear.

 

He pulled back, eyes roaming over Louis’ content face. “How about next Saturday?”

 

“Sounds good, H.” He stepped past Harry and opened his front door. Harry stepped back into his socks and boots, running his fingers lightly over Louis’ arm. Just before he stepped out Louis pulled him in, pasting a quick kiss to his cheek and gently pushing him out the door. Harry beamed a mega watt grin at Louis as the door shut. He breath whooshed out of him, and he tilted his head back to look at the white ceiling of the hallway. He quietly laughed, overwhelmed at the happiness bubbling inside of him. He brushed a hand over his stomach; glad Louis had turned out to be as amazing as Harry thought. Falling into bed once he got home, he slept easily that night, one hand cupped over his peanut.

 

*

 

The next Saturday morning, Harry woke up to a voicemail from Liam.

 

“Hey Haz, one of your sponsors wants to meet for dinner tonight. It can’t be rescheduled sorry; I know your date with Louis was tonight. I’ll be over at 4:30. Bye.”

 

Harry pouted into his phone. That wasn’t fun. He had been super excited about the date; Liam _knew_ that. And still he had to cancel on Louis.

 

 **Hazhead:** Morning Lou! I’m really sorry, a tennis sponsor dinner thing has come up and I can’t get out of it :( Raincheck? H x

 

 **Lou <3:** Hiya Haz ! That’s okay; a raincheck is absolutely fine ! Shall we say same time next week ? Have fun tonight x

 

The sponsor dinner was terrible. Harry didn’t talk to Liam for 24 hours.

 

*

 

It was the day of their make-up date, and Harry had double and triple checked to make sure nothing was going to come up and ruin their plans. It was 2pm and Harry had just ironed the shirt he planned to wear that night when his phone buzzed.

 

 **Lou <3:** Omg so my sister Lottie just surprised me with a visit ?? Like thanks for coming, it’s great and all, but we have a date planned :(

 

 **Hazhead:** L That’s okay Lou, I promise. We’ll just take another raincheck, yeah? This is exciting! I want you to enjoy it xx Same time next week? H x

 

 **Lou <3:** You’re so wonderful H ! Next week for sure. We’ll get it right next time ! X

 

Louis texted later that night, saying Lottie said hi, and while it was fun, he would have rather been with Harry. He didn’t feel so lonely after that, and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

*

 

Finally date night had come around. They’d been in contact every day, determined to have their dinner this time around. Third time lucky, and all that. They’d even gotyen in contact with all their family and friends, specifically telling them that Saturday night was off limits. Nothing could go wrong.

 

Harry had a late shower that day, spending most of his morning in bed rubbing his abdomen, wishing he would start showing. He stood in front of his mirror once he got out, and turned to the side, gasping when he could see a small protrusion. Quickly he picked up his phone from the bed, desperate to take a photo of it just in case he blinked and it was gone, just a figment of his imagination.

 

It was hard for him to believe that only a month ago he was thinking about ways to fix what was happening inside him. Now he was so glad that he decided to keep his precious baby, it was everything he ever wanted and more, he loved his peanut with his whole heart. He sighed, still softly tracing patterns onto his belly, knowing that soon he’d have to break the news to Louis. He was hoping the other man would take it well, and he seemed really into Harry, so he was preparing for the best even though he maybe should’ve been expecting the worst.

 

He was in the best of moods when he left for the restaurant, wearing a loose flowing top with jeans to hide his small bump. It was so exciting that he had to wear looser clothing now, and he couldn’t wait to go shopping for maternity clothes. Hopefully with Louis.

 

They met up in front of La Petite Abeille, grinning at each other and hugging tightly for a few minutes before venturing inside, Harry holding the door open for Louis. He’d never been there before, but Louis recommended it, and Harry loved French food, so he was all for it. They approached the maître d’ with their hands clasped between their bodies, and Harry was already so happy.

 

“Hi, we have a reservation under Tomlinson?”

 

The maître d’ called over a waitress who gestured for them to follow her to their table. They smiled at her as she left to collect menus, and Louis quickly rushed around to Harry’s chair so he could pull it out, bending down to peck his cheek once Harry was seated. He bit his lip; dazed with all the fondness he had for the man opposite him.

 

It was a truly magical dinner, even without the actual presence of witchcraft. The food was delicious, and they talked all night until the restaurant was about to close. They shared a chocolate lava cake for dessert, cheekily feeding each other bites while rubbing their feet together under the table. The hands not holding cutlery were clasped tightly together on the table, and Harry felt on top of the world. Throughout the restaurant small chandeliers hung from the ceiling, creating a romantic atmosphere that lingered after they left. Harry was sad to see it go, but as his and Louis’ hands swung between them as they meandered along the street, he didn’t think he wanted to stay in there any longer anyway, not if he could spend all this time alone with Louis, just admiring his presence.

 

One thing that Harry was apologetic about was his constant need to pee. Every ten minutes, he swore. It was like he had no bladder at all. He could tell Louis was getting suspicious, but when Harry finally brought it up to him at the end of dinner, Louis just waved it away, saying he was sure it was just Harry being healthy. He giggled nervously in response, a small part of him wishing that Louis had come to a different conclusion, and then he wouldn’t actually have to tell Louis because he would have figured it out for himself.

 

Harry assumed it was the end of the date when he couldn’t stop yawning and Louis was unsubtly directing them back towards their cars. In that moment Harry wished they had driven together, if only to get ten more minutes with his date. Louis pulled Harry to a stop beside his car, grabbing on to his other hand and swinging them between their bodies.

 

“Thank you for coming tonight, Harry, I had a wonderful time.” He smiled up at Harry, truth in every word.

 

“Me too, I really did. I had so much fun, Lou. I hope we can do it again,” he shyly looked up at Louis from under his eyelashes.

 

“Of course we can, love,” Harry swooned, “How about I come by tomorrow and we can watch The Notebook?” That was the movie they had started watching at Louis’ place all those weeks ago, and Harry had complained that they didn’t get to finish it. He was touched that Louis remembered.

 

“Sounds brilliant,” he grinned, swaying forward slightly.

 

The air between them became charged, Louis glancing at Harry’s lips before snapping his gaze back to his face, unsure if he was allowed to be looking there. They both knew what they wanted; what they expected, and Harry reassured Louis with a smile and a hand under his jaw. He gently pulled Louis in, shuddering as Louis’ hands made contact with his waist. He stopped a hair’s breadth away from Louis’ lips, breath ghosting between them, soft on their mouths.

 

Louis made the final move, surging forward to press his lips against Harry’s. In contrast to the desperate action, the kiss was soft and gentle, a sweet press of lips on lips. They parted only to dive back in, Harry’s hands slipping from Louis’ jaw down his front and around to his back, caging him in close. Louis pushed even closer, needing to be touching Harry everywhere he could. His hands slid up Harry’s waist and over his chest, coming to rest behind his neck. Their mouths parted, Harry’s tongue slipping inside Louis’ mouth. They met wetly, licking and sucking before pulling away for air. It felt like fireworks between them, but it was muted, as though the feeling was secondary to the physical sensation of Louis’ slick lips against Harry’s own. He rested his forehead on Louis’ still harbouring the desire to be close. His hands rubbed up and down Louis’ back as his breathing quietened, and he pulled back a little to press soft and quick kisses along Louis’ cheeks and brow, placing one final one on his nose and smiling into it, pressing his face against Louis’ cheek.

 

Louis giggled, feeling the tickles from Harry’s lips all over his face. He smiled sweetly up at Harry when they finally parted, biting his lip as he tilted his head teasingly, baring his neck.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, H,” he whispered silkily, caressing Harry’s jaw before turning to walk to his own car.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied breathily, incapable of more than that. He watched him go, hips swaying, and he glanced back once he was at his car, grinning and looking away when he saw Harry still gazing after him.

 

Harry thought that night surpassed everything else as his favourite night of his life.

 

*

 

In the morning, Harry woke up slowly, smiling sleepily as he remembered his date with Louis last night. He got ready for the day with that same dopey smile stuck on his face, totally unable to feel anything but blissful.

 

He recalled Louis mentioning something about coming over that day, but he wasn’t sure if they had discussed a time. He was still shirtless, obsessed with his bump that had definitely grown over night. After a peek in the fridge, checking that yes, he did have enough food to make lunch for the both of them (if Louis did in fact arrive around lunchtime), he stepped back into his bedroom, wanting to continue looking at his belly in the mirror.

 

He was engrossed that he didn’t hear a key jangling in the lock, Louis having discovered where it was after knocking for five minutes and getting no response. Harry didn’t hear Louis berating him over the placement of said key either, missing the “under the mat? Honestly Harold, do you wanted to be burgled?” that he called across the space, and only realised that he was no longer alone when Louis had made his way through the entire flat to the bedroom, gasping in shock at seeing Harry reverently caress the obvious bump on his stomach.

 

Harry’s head shot up, eyes widening and mouth falling open. How had he missed Louis’ entrance? This was not how he was supposed to find out. It was supposed to be romantic and special, and Louis wouldn’t hesitate as he told Harry that _of course_ he would support him and the baby.

 

He stood up shakily, stumbling towards Louis, stuttering out an explanation. “I – I – I’m sorry Lou. I didn’t – I tried to – I meant to tell you, I promise –”

 

Louis was still frozen to the spot, unresponsive. He finally snapped out of it when a sob ripped out of Harry’s throat, startling him into action.

 

“Oh Harry, oh love, it’s okay,” he took Harry into his arms and gently led them back to Harry’s bed, taking a seat on the soft duvet and pulling Harry into his lap. “It’s alright darling, everything will be okay,” he soothed as sobs wracked Harry’s body, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. Louis tried to wipe them away, but each time more replaced them. “I need you to stop crying for me love, hm? Can you do that for me, baby?” Harry nodded, but his face was red and blotchy, and he clutched Louis’ shirt in his fist like a lifeline, breaths shaky and halted. He slowly calmed down, Louis petting his hair softly and whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

 

Once Harry was no longer crying, Louis shifted them back on the bed towards the headboard, laying down and bringing Harry with him, still cuddling him close.

 

“So,” he started hesitatingly, throwing a glance to Harry to check if it was okay to ask. A miniscule nod from Harry and he kept going, “you’re pregnant?” There was no judgement in his tone, only curiosity.

 

“14 weeks,” Harry responded, barely audible.

 

“Oh love,” Louis murmured, rubbing Harry’s arm, “that must have been so scary, doing that all by yourself.” Harry snuggled closer at his words, relieved that Louis wasn’t mad.

 

He paused though, before asking his next question, and Harry felt him tense slightly. “Do you...know who the father is?”

 

Harry closed his eyes, thinking maybe if he squeezed them tightly enough he’d disappear and wouldn’t have to say anymore. He sighed when he opened them and he was still there.

 

“It’s you,” he whispered into Louis’ neck. The only response was a sharp intake of air.

 

There was a pregnant pause, and then, “me?”

 

Harry nodded, unwilling to move.

 

“How?”

 

The other dreaded question. How was Harry even supposed to answer that? He shifted away from Louis, smiling at the other man’s huff in complaint, but he only sat up straight before cuddling back in, Louis humming contentedly.

 

“It’s a little complicated,” Harry began, and Louis made an enquiring noise. “Remember the night we met?” Louis hummed. “Well, before I saw you I was talking to this woman, June. And like, I guess I was a little rude looking back, but I suppose I totally blanked her for you? Like I saw you, and it was like she no longer existed,” Harry felt Louis press a kiss to his hair. “And then we, you know, had sex, and she visited me in my dreams after I got confirmation I was pregnant.” Here Louis sat up, giving Harry a concerned look. “Trust me, Lou, I know how this sounds. But, here’s the kicker, turns out she was a witch, and she was jealous that I rejected her so she cursed me to get pregnant. She like, magicked a womb inside of me and everything.”

 

“Haz,” Harry looked at him, “what the actual fuck?”

 

Harry barked out a laugh. “I know, oh my God. I can hardly believe it myself.”

 

“Well, I believe you,” Louis sung sweetly.

 

“You do?”

 

“Of course. I don’t think I like this June character very much, but I like you.” Harry _aww_ ’d in his throat, hugging Louis close. “So I guess I just have one question...” Harry hummed, “will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Harry immediately pulled away, taking Louis’ jaw between his hands and searching his eyes. He didn’t find anything but fondness and affection and breathed out a relieved sigh.

 

“Are you sure?” He had to ask. It would change everything – he wouldn’t have go through the pregnancy alone, relying on Liam for everything he needed; he’d have someone who could really help him when things got tough; and maybe he wouldn’t have to give up tennis completely after all.

 

“Of course, love. We’ll do all of this together; you and me. Everything will be okay,” he reasurred, pressing kisses all over Harry’s face just like he did the night before.

 

“Promise?” Harry asked, voice suddenly small. He was scared – definitely excited, but also terrified.

 

“I promise, H. Everything will work out,” he gazed into Harry’s eyes and Harry saw the truth there. He leaned in close, pressing a sweet kiss to Louis’ lips.

 

“Okay,” he nodded at Louis. “I’d love to be your boyfriend,” he laughed at Louis’ resounding “YES” that he cheered loudly, fist pumping the air.

 

He believed Louis when he said it would all work out. As long as he had Louis, he knew everything would be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you got this far, I hope you enjoyed it. Have a lovely day x
> 
> Also just as a side note, I'm probably going to write a little sequel about Harry having the baby, but I have no idea when that will happen. Just a little teaser for you.


End file.
